


Petrichor

by sixpences



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon - Manga, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixpences/pseuds/sixpences
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think we should get you out of those wet clothes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on from [Cloudburst](http://archiveofourown.org/works/128810), but you don't really need to have read that first.

When they get inside the first thing Riza does is go into the bathroom for towels. They woke Hayate up coming in and he's still sleepy enough to let Roy rub his tummy, wriggling around on his blanket. The rain finally stopped as they were driving home and Roy dried out one glove on the dashboard; he crouches down by the little fireplace, scoops a handful of kindling into the grate and lights it. Riza reappears as he's adding the first log and he stands up.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs again as she hands him a towel. She's already kicked off her boots and she scrubs her own towel through her soaking hair.

"I know." She looks at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners with affection. "Just... try not to do it again."

"I can do that." He pulls the towel up onto his head and she reaches over to rub it back and forth rather ineffectually. Her hand drops to his shoulder and she squeezes it, rubbing her thumb back and forth against his arm. The fire crackles behind them, heat starting to seep outwards into the room. Roy tugs his towel backwards to look at her and she's smiling- the smile that he likes best of all.

"I think we should get you out of those wet clothes."

Her hands are firm but the wet fabric makes the buttons awkward and she mumbles a curse under her breath. Roy pushes both their towels to the floor and settles his arms around her waist, letting his fingers creep under the hem of her top and trace little patterns on the cool skin above her hips. She lets out a little huff.

"Are you trying to distract me?"

"Your clothes are wet too."

"Well. That's a fair point." She yanks the last button on his jacket free and he lets go of her to let her push it off his body; it falls to the ground with a damp thud. He closes the gap again and kisses her and her hands curve around his face, her fingers pushing away his still sodden hair. He peels her top upwards, pushing her jacket back as he goes, and she breaks away to give him a dubious look.

"Multitasking," he explains, pressing his mouth against hers again before moving along her jaw to her neck. "Don't want you to catch cold."

"How considerate," she murmurs, and lifts her arms to let him pull both layers off. He flings them away and they land with a suitably dramatic thump... next to the dog basket.

"Oh _wonderful_ ," Riza says sarcastically, but as if by some miracle Hayate has returned soundly to sleep and doesn't even lift his head.

"My faith in mercy is restored," Roy says, and starts to help her with his shirt buttons.

They make it across the kitchen to the hall without tripping over anything- Riza's idea of what constitutes storage space is still fairly baffling to him- and he stops her to make sure the door is firmly closed behind them, plunging the hall into gloom. Her hands slide around his neck and she reaches up to murmur into his ear.

"Aren't you worried that the fire will go out?"

Roy blinks in the half-light. She's normally quite subtle but that was the most obvious set up he's heard in weeks. He walks her three steps back towards the bedroom and ducks his head towards her, smiling against her neck. "Oh, it's alright my dear," he breathes, as melodramatically as he can. "This fire is still burning."

The sound of her laughter is still the best thing he's ever heard.

In the bedroom they shed their trousers and underwear and socks and he clambers onto the bed, piling up the pillows behind him. Riza kicks some of her dirty laundry out of the way and for a moment she stands very still, looking at him. Her hair is still slicked down close to her head from the rain and the look on her face makes his chest tighten with emotion.

He extends a silent hand and when she walks up to the bed and straddles his lap he runs it up her thigh, her skin still cool and damp from the rain. She leans forward, pushing his hair out of his eyes again, and there's something still and vast in her eyes.

"Perhaps someone should order _you_ not to die."

The words seem to catch on their way out of his throat. "I'd take that order, Lieutenant," he mumbles, and she kisses him, her mouth lingering over his. It's been a long time since she had the epaulettes to match but that was never really what he meant by it anyway.

He runs his hands down her arms and back up her sides, her skin warming at his touch; she presses her body against his and her fingertips skim down his ribcage, the smooth, mottled scarring across his left side. He coaxes her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles at it, sliding an arm around her back to hold her against him as he leans back into the pillows, her breasts pressing against his chest.

There's nothing else in the world like being with her, like the feeling of the muscles moving in her back, her lips at the edge of his mouth, her hand trailing down his stomach to his arousal caught between them. She shifts backwards and up and he settles one hand around her hip to guide her down onto him and there might as well be nothing beyond the edges of their bed, nothing left to his senses but Riza and her body around him.

He leans forward to meet her kiss halfway and her arms fall loosely around his shoulders. She moves languidly, her eyelids sliding to half-mast, and sits up slightly onto her knees to let him meet her with long, slow thrusts, his palm splayed against her back. He has learned where she likes to be touched, the best way to make her eyes darken or to draw those wordless little noises from the back of her throat; his fingertips murmur dots and dashes of code against her skin and she bites her lip, one hand pushing its way into his hair.

"Easy, Colonel," she says, voice rough, and the words run through him like a shiver. Her hipbone grazes his palm as his other hand runs down to the slick seam where their bodies meet. He looks her in the eye.

"Show me?"

It's not that he doesn't already know, that they haven't both learned over all these years exactly what the other likes. It's just the feeling of her fingers laced through his, guiding, the way she holds his eyes and twists her other hand in his hair, and she's sparking along every nerve in his body like a live current. He feels his breath slip into short little gasps. Riza pulls him forward to press herself against him.

"Colonel," she says again, breathlessly, and nips at his earlobe. He scrapes his nails against her back and where her fingers lie over his she's pressing, pushing, drawing him along after her, and when he kisses the curve of her jaw and whispers, "Lieutenant," into her ear she shudders in his arms and there, _there_ , and the fall is long and burning and bright.

Her legs are still hooked around his, after, the pillows strewn around and both of them lying crookedly across the mattress. They might both have dozed a little but he can't really tell; he doesn't think he would have seen anything but her even with his eyes closed.

"Your hair looks funny," she says lazily, pausing to tweak at it as she traces one hand around his face. It still feels damp and it's probably drying in those irritating little tufts.

"I think that's your fault."

"Extenuating circumstances. I was very distracted." She closes her eyes beatifically and he smiles and leans his forehead against hers. He feels her other hand slide across his burn scars again, along his stomach and slowly downwards.

"Already?" he chuckles.

"The night is young," she says with a touch of drama, opening her eyes slightly and raising her eyebrows.

"I just can't say the same for myself," he says ruefully.

"I should have made my move when you were still seventeen."

"Well, you do get some improvements with the later model." He shifts his head to kiss her throat, circling one nipple with the pad of his thumb, and is rewarded with a guttural noise and the heel of her hand pressing into his stomach. She ducks her mouth to his and they kiss, messy but unhurried.

"Don't forget there's a fire on," he adds when they break apart, "and we ought to feed the dog."

"Pragmatism really doesn't suit you," she says with narrowed eyes, but her hand is tracing gentle circles on his stomach and she shifts in closer. "Just stay with me a little while longer."

Roy brushes a few strands of hair back from her face and closes his eyes, the smell and the heat of her body everywhere in the dark. There's rain drumming at the window again, hurtling down into the darkening streets outside. "Okay."


End file.
